“I suppose that is one thing to base a marriage on.”
“I would prefer you to base the marriage on love,” Daisy said.
“Love?” The duke leaned back, and Daisy nodded.
An uncomfortable look contorted his face, and he averted his eyes. Clearly, men were every bit as out of touch with their emotions as some women claimed.
“It might be difficult to recognize you’re in love,” Daisy said.
The duke’s eyes widened, and his cheeks grew an uncharacteristic ruddy color.
Daisy sighed. Evidently, the duke was even worse at emotions than she’d thought. He seemed thoroughly disinclined to discuss them.
“Still,” she said. “There are certain signs that you might be in love.”
“Oh?” The duke’s voice sounded oddly hoarse.
She nodded. “Yes, hoarseness is one of them. Your lungs might feel less full in the presence of your beloved, and your voice might lose its characteristic strength.”
Footsteps thundered across the room, and she realized Alistair had exited. Most servants glided. Clearly, he must have been in a hurry to exit for some reason.
She shook her head slightly and reminded herself that the duke’s household practices were of no concern to her. There was absolutely no reason in the world for her heart to be aching in the duke’s presence.
This is business.
“You might find that your chest narrows in the presence of your beloved,” Daisy said. “Your stomach might become beset by butterflies.”
The duke laid a hand on his stomach, and an odd expression fluttered across his face.
“It isn’t the most pleasant of symptoms,” she said. “Though I suppose it’s quite distinctive.”
“You’ll be certain to recognize it.” Mrs. Powell bit into a sweet. She smirked slightly. “For instance, you wouldn’t feel butterflies when speaking with me.”
The duke widened his eyes.
“Good example, Mrs. Powell,” Daisy said.
“I was pleased with it.” Mrs. Powell took another sip of tea, then continued to smirk.
Daisy shook her head slightly. Mrs. Powell was behaving most oddly.
“What else might you discover?” Mrs. Powell pressed.
“Well, he might blush,” Daisy said.
The duke grabbed a scone hastily, stretching his arm to the other side of the table and ducking his head down. When he returned with the scone, his cheeks seemed ruddier than before, surely because of the sudden physical exertion.
Daisy frowned slightly. She wouldn’t have thought the duke would have suffered from that action. After all, the man was most muscular. She stared at his chest for a moment, conscious of the ripples underneath his waistcoat.
She averted her gaze hastily, though she had the horrible impression it had not been hasty enough. She refrained from meeting Mrs. Powell’s or the duke’s eyes just in case.
“Are there any more signs of being in love?” Mrs. Powell asked.
“Those are the important ones,” Daisy said, thankful for Mrs. Powell for saving the conversation. She’d hardly come here to gawk at the duke and blush in his presence. She gave her most professional smile at the duke. “So, at the ball, you can see if you experience any of those emotions.”
“To a woman I’ve just met?”
Daisy nodded. “Cupid has a strong bow.”
“I—I see.” He frowned slightly. “Where did you get this information?”
“There was an entire article on it in Matchmaking for Wallflowers.”
“Then you are quite the expert in it.”
“Yes.” Daisy beamed. “I am.”
The duke’s eyes shone as he contemplated her. “You’re like no other woman I know.”
“Well,” Daisy said, “that’s because you have only one matchmaker.”
“Yes,” he agreed after a pause. “I suppose you’re correct.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The ball was happening. Musicians Daisy had found were playing in the ballroom. Thankfully, Daisy had also told them which songs to play. Reggie wouldn’t have been able to offer guidance. The musicians played the familiar sounds of a minuet with confidence. Everything sounded proper, and the upbeat tempo almost made him excited.
Almost.
Nervousness moved through him.
“You look handsome, Your Grace,” Alistair said.
“Thank you.” Reggie smoothed his tailcoat. “I suppose the guests are here.”
“Indeed.” Alistair’s eyes sparkled. “Enjoy yourself.”
Reggie gave a dutiful nod.
“That is not the face of a man happy to spend the night with a group of eligible, wealthy women,” Alistair remarked.
“Er—” Reggie attempted a smile.
Alistair’s other brow also shot upward. “An admirable attempt at joviality, Your Grace, but might I suggest it is not a particularly persuasive one.”
Reggie glowered and wrapped his arms against his chest. “You know too much.”
“I know just enough.” Alistair folded Reggie’s discarded attire. He turned his head to Reggie. “I believe you’ve found the woman you want to marry.”
Reggie stared.
Alistair arched an eyebrow.
Reggie inhaled. “Fine. You’re correct.”
Reggie was in love.
With his matchmaker.
Alistair’s lips spread into a wide smile. “I knew it. Miss Holloway is a wonderful woman.” His face sobered. “Though you don’t seem happy. The realization should bring you joy.”
“She wants to match me with a woman.”
“True,” Alistair said. “But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t persuade her to marry you.”
“I don’t want to marry anyone else,” Reggie said miserably.
Alistair smiled. “In that case, I suggest you speak with her as soon as possible. She’s in the ballroom.”
Reggie gave a curt nod, then marched to the ballroom. The music grew louder as he approached, and he noted the changes Daisy had made. Reggie was certain the rooms had never sparkled so much, nor held such magnificent flowers.
Daisy sat by the fireplace beside her father, surrounded by the exquisite flowers she’d chosen. She’d pulled her hair to her side, and his throat dried at the sight of her long, curled honey-colored locks. She wore a gold dress. Her cheeks were a delightful pink, and he resisted the urge to touch them. Reggie swallowed an odd nervousness and strode toward her, vaguely noticing the elegant young women about him.
Her father wrinkled his brow and scowled. Mr. Holloway had Daisy’s petite figure, though his already-white hair was arranged haphazardly.
“Miss Holloway.” Reggie swept into a bow. “I’m so pleased you could come.”
“Thank you,” Daisy murmured.
Reggie’s heart caught at the sound of Daisy’s soprano voice. He took in her slender body, upturned nose, and glossy dark-blonde locks that framed her face.
“You look beautiful.” Reggie’s throat tightened, and he coughed. Reggie remembered to turn to her father and exchange greetings. Mr. Holloway’s lips were tight, and if Reggie had not known such a thing was socially impossible, he would have said Mr. Holloway glowered.
Daisy’s father nodded and gazed at Reggie. “Where are you from?”
“London, mostly. Though I have an estate in Lincolnshire.”
“Duke of Hammett, did you say?” Daisy’s father asked. “You’re not speaking about Darby Castle?”
Reggie nodded.
“I’ve been there before,” Daisy’s father said. “Took a tour with the housekeeper before Daisy was born. Crumbly old thing. Built to keep the Danes out, right?”
“Well, it must have worked. No Danes here,” Daisy said.
“Yes,” Daisy’s father said with clear reluctance. He peered around the room, as if hopeful to see some horn-adorned helmets that would provide evidence to the contrary. “Lots of women here.”
“Your Grace,” Daisy whispered.
“No need for such formalities,” Reggie said hastily.
Mr. Holloway smiled and shot Daisy a smug glance. “Then I won’t use them.”
A pained expression flitted across Daisy’s face, but she turned to Reggie and smiled. “Your Grace, I would like you to meet my good friend, Miss Lucy Banks.”
Reggie’s heart fell. He’d hoped to speak with Daisy alone and not have her launch into full matchmaker mode.
“You mean, you don’t know everyone here?” Mr. Holloway furrowed his pale brows. Their overall thinness did not lessen their ability to intimidate. Normally, Reggie didn’t find slim-boned men intimidating. He didn’t even find large muscular men intimidating, but somehow it made a difference that this man was Daisy’s father.
Daisy turned to her father. “He’s new to Bath.”
“Ah, yes. Injured, right?” Daisy’s father rolled his gaze over Reggie’s body, as if he half-expected to see the broken bones.
“Mostly healed,” Reggie said stiffly.
For a moment, Daisy’s face sobered, but in the next her lips jutted into a wide beam that made his heart ache. “That’s wonderful news!”
Reggie nodded. It was good news. His doctor in London had been correct—the specialists in Bath were helpful.
“You should have mentioned something earlier,” Daisy said.
“Earlier?” Her father frowned. “Just how early in the conversation do you expect people to mention the state of their bones?”
“Bone health is vital,” Daisy said stubbornly. “It is an important part of every conversation.”
Reggie noticed Daisy did not mention she’d seen Reggie every day leading up to this ball. Perhaps there were some things parents might not understand.
Or perhaps he simply hadn’t been as important to her as she’d been to him.
He forced the thought away, but a sour taste invaded his throat. He needed to speak with her. He shouldn’t have waited until the ball.
“I didn’t know bone health was such a topic of conversation,” her father grumbled. “It must be a Bath thing.”
“Let’s meet Miss Banks,” Daisy told Reggie.
Daisy’s father sighed. “You might see Daisy doesn’t crash into anything.”
Reggie frowned. “Daisy manages very well.”
Mr. Holloway snorted. “We no longer have vases in our house.”
Reggie blinked. “Perhaps the furniture was arranged without much thought.”
Daisy’s father scowled.
Reggie bowed, then followed Daisy. Her company was altogether more pleasurable than that of her father’s.
In fact, her company was more pleasurable than anyone else’s.
Unfortunately, she was speaking to a woman whom he assumed was the elusive Miss Lucy Banks.
Reggie sighed. He knew he’d already found the woman he desired to marry.
“Miss Holloway.” He bowed. “Perhaps we could speak in the alcove.”
Daisy’s eyes widened, but then she nodded and shot him a professional smile. “Indeed. As you wish, Your Grace.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The duke led Daisy past the immaculately attired women scattered about the ballroom. The dresses’ colors varied, but each style was exquisitely cut, as if the women had stepped from Matchmaking for Wallflowers’ fashion plates.
He led her to a small room, behind where the musicians were playing. He left the door open, and the music floated into the room. Daisy wheeled herself into the room and turned toward the duke.
The man’s face was serious. She took in the sturdiness of the slope of his nose and the steadiness of his jaw. Then she realized she was staring, and quickly drew her attention to her lap. Unfortunately, the view of her yellow dress, one she’d worn many times before, was vastly less interesting.
He inhaled and opened his mouth, then shut it.
“I suppose you would like me to tell you about the guests in private,” she said.
“That’s not necessary.”
“That’s where you’re going wrong. You need to learn about them. They’re really quite interesting.”
“I find that doubtful.”
Daisy furrowed her brow. Had the duke already dismissed all the women she’d worked so hard to find? She clenched her fists. “Nonsense. There’s the American heiress, Lucy Banks, who I wanted to introduce you to. She’s most delightful, and very rich.”
The duke was silent.
“And—er—if you’re interested in athletic women, Miss Regina Holland is a horse enthusiast. Perhaps you’ll find her a good match.”
The duke studied her. “It’s not necessary for me to be with someone similarly athletic.”
“Well, I suppose you do sufficient sports for both of you.”
“Perhaps.” The duke frowned. “I’ve been considering retiring from boxing.”
“Oh.” Daisy blinked. “In that case, it’s no doubt even more important for you to find a wealthy bride.”
“That was the plan,” the duke said, staring at her oddly.
“Well. All the women are wealthy, though if you want to get the most coin for your vow exchange and not travel overseas for family functions, I suggest you look into Miss Beatrice Thompson.”
“Of the Thompson mines?” The duke raised his eyebrows.
“Precisely.” Daisy nodded firmly. “Now I know they’ve been in the broadsheets lately for the mines’ less-than-ideal employment practices—”
“—the child labor?”
“Yes, but I can assure you that Miss Beatrice Thompson played no part in determining the mining policies.”
“I suppose she wouldn’t.”
“Of course not. She went to the same finishing school as me.”
“That is in her favor.”
Daisy furrowed her eyebrows. Sometimes the duke said the oddest things. It was almost frustrating. She’d rather hoped the duke would wander into the party, have his heart beat wildly at the sight of some beauty, who would then occupy his attention entirely. Still, she couldn’t fault the duke for taking a more analytical approach to the process. If he wanted to be certain of each of the women’s backgrounds and financial well-being before he exchanged chit-chat with them, that was his prerogative. It was the logical approach, and Daisy admired logic.
“What’s wrong?” the duke asked.
“Nothing,” Daisy said. “Everything is just as it should be.”
The duke scrutinized her.
“Have you found a woman you would like to marry yet?” Daisy asked. For some terrible reason, her voice wobbled and her chest squeezed. The man’s answer appeared terribly important.
The duke’s dark eyes raked over her, and the air thickened. She supposed that was because the duke was about to make an important life decision. Marriage must be the most important decision there was.
She forced her lips to widen into a pleasant smile, even though the action seemed difficult. If she didn’t smile, she might linger on the fact it would be nice to marry the duke. She didn’t actually want him to declare his vast admiration for Lucy Banks or Princess Aria or any other woman.
Still. It didn’t matter what she thought. Jobs were supposed to be difficult, and she’d merely come to the difficult part of hers. The important thing was that she helped make the duke happy. There was nothing else she could hope for, despite what Mrs. Powell would say. Any of the women outside would make the duke an excellent duchess, and their ample dowries would restore the duke’s estate.
“Let’s not talk about the other women in the ballroom,” the duke said.
Daisy frowned. That wasn’t what she wanted him to say. Worry swept through her. “Perhaps I was too hasty to talk about butterflies. Perhaps not everyone has them.”
“Perhaps,” the duke agreed.
The musicians switched to a dance, and she stared in the direction of the sound.
“How very lovely,” she murmured.
> “You chose well.”
She smiled. “I know.”
“Would you like to dance?” he asked, his voice deep and sultry.
She widened her eyes. “I-I don’t dance.”
“Of course you can,” he said. “I’ll hold you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Trust me.” The duke approached her, then swept her from her chair, carrying her in his arms. The man was strong, and she felt his muscular chest. A scent of cedar wafted about him, and she resisted the temptation to openly inhale.
Then he slowly rearranged her, so her legs dangled downward. He clasped his arms about her waist pressing her tightly to him.
“I’ll fall,” she protested.
“You won’t fall,” he promised.
The music continued, and he began to sway.
“Let the music take you away,” he whispered.
She nodded, conscious of the close distance between their faces. She could see the stubble on his face, despite the surely valiant efforts of his manservant. She snuggled against his expensive tailcoat and for a moment she just enjoyed the sensation of moving across the room. His sturdy arms held her about her waist.
“Shall we enter the other room?”
She widened her eyes. “But people would see us.”
“Would that be terrible?”
“But one of those women is to be your wife. Shouldn’t you be spending time with them to determine which one makes your heart pitter-patter?”
“Daisy...” His voice roughened, and she gazed at him.
Heavens. The man exuded such handsomeness. His cheeks were chiseled, and his dark eyes were mesmerizing. She was so close...she could see the individual hair on his sturdy brows and the spaces between his long, thick eyelashes. She could even see each indention in his skin from his scar.
“Your Grace?” Her throat dried, as if every ounce of energy she had was focused on keeping her heart beating. Certainly it thundered in her chest now. She clung tighter about him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her heart beat madly, and for a moment, she thought she could feel his heart thunder against hers as well.
But that would be impossible...wouldn’t it? The physical exertion should not be sufficient to cause unease in his body, and obviously there would be no emotional exertion.
The Duke Meets His Matchmaker (The Duke Hunters Club, #5) Page 11